CHAPTER 3 – CONFERENCE MAN

Malcolm's a menace. He always was, and as far as I can tell he always will be. One of those self-obsessed mathematicians, his pessimism was pretty much ever-present. Uncontrollable this, unreliable that. God, I don't know what his problem was. He always seemed so assured that he could use numbers to solve things—everything, that faced him in real life. Personally, I just don't see it. There's only so much you can do with math, and then you have to actually go out and get your hands dirty. All this extensive number crunching and jargon is just one of those things that are happening to the world; it's all gone soft. Everybody can sit around and intellectualize, and never actually lift a finger, and nobody bats an eyelid. The days of the men of action are over.

Despite all of this, Malcolm was pushing it in the terms of weird shit. A chaotician, he called himself. Whenever Malcolm talked my head hurt, but the rundown of his field was 'shit happens' as far as I could tell. Every time somebody proposed a business opportunity (there were some fantastic ideas going around in that company), he'd just smile to himself and go about telling us all about how we were wrong to try and control anything about the animals, or the island, even our own money, for Christ sake!

But still, John liked to keep him around. Even though nobody seemed to agree with him, John felt that there was some meaning to his ravings, and even made him a consultant to the company, inviting him to participate in the board meetings and everything.

If Hammond hadn't been in charge for so long, he'd have been long gone.

Peter Thomas, 1993

Ian Malcolm

September 22nd, 1989

InGen Headquarters Building, New York City, United States of America

The conference room was large and expensive looking. The entire exterior wall of the room was made of glass, revealing the darkening city of New York outside, the dark shapes of the buildings silhouetted against the sky, which was beginning to turn a beautiful mixture of pink, blue and orange, the clouds taking on a denser appearance. The air conditioner clicked softly, the water cooler bubbled in the corner of the room. The walls were painted a uniform beige colour, and to account for the lack of paint several vibrant plant pots were positioned at equal intervals around each wall. In the centre of the room was a long, solid oak conference table surrounded by leather chairs. Each of the chairs was filled by a middle-aged man dressed in an expensive black suit, with the exception of the slightly larger chair at the head of the table. This chair was filled by John Hammond, who looked at the other board members of InGen with a smile on his face. They had just begun the annual board meeting, and he was proud to be sitting where he was; they had just had a great year.

"Gentlemen, we have successfully kept on schedule, and now have our first round dozen group of animals on-site at our Site A Isla Nublar complex," he said smoothly, smiling at them all.

Everybody nodded to him courteously, a few of them clapping their hands together lightly for a few times. Encouraged, Hammond continued his little pre-prepared speech to his investors.

"Our systems manager, Mr. Arnold is confident that all security systems will be fully operational by—"

Ahem.

A cough floated through the room, barely audible. And yet, Hammond paused, and turned to a small black box positioned on the table next to him. It was a phone speaker system, and they were on the line to one of their consultants.

Ian Malcolm's voice drawled across the line, his voice slightly scratchy.

"As much as I have to apologize for not being able to join you all today," one of the men across from Hammond shifted slightly in his chair, coughing to hide a noise of disapproval, "I'm afraid I still have to cross you on this one, John. As I've told you time and time again, your security systems in this case are inappropriate."

One of the board members, who simply couldn't contain himself, burst out, "Mr. Hammond, I really don't think this...consultant, is a necessary presence at these meetings."

John simply smiled, and raised one of his withered hands slightly, and made a small waving gesture, silently shushing him. "I understand your point, Mr. Abernathy, but I really would like it if we listened to Dr. Malcolm's views on this matter. Please continue Ian."

"Well, all I'm saying is what I've said the time before that, and the time before that. You think that you can just grab some animals that have never before been studied whatsoever, and throw them in an isolated, artificial environment, and then expect to have total control over them."

"We do have control over them," another man said, his bald head gleaming in the dying light. "They're just animals, for god's sake."

"Thinking like that is what gets people into trouble. They're unpredictable, and you know it."

Abernathy leaned forwards. "Dr. Malcolm, you do not even understand the full extent of our project. You are not a researcher; you are not even fully informed. How do you think that you can make accurate predictions on such matters?"

There was a brief pause.

"I'm not sure what you are referring to. But, as you know, I'm just a consultant, and I'm giving my opinion. You cannot create an animal and not expect it to act like one. If I were you I would improve contingency plans, increase security, and plan for some form of breakout, especially if the animals are large, intelligent, or dangerous."

There was a silence in the room for a moment, and then Hammond spoke quietly.

"Thank you, Ian, we will take it under advisement," he said.

Malcolm's quiet laugh floated over the phone line. "I'm sure you will," he said. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have to be going," and with a small click the scratchy sound stopped, and the line went dead.

Everybody simply stared at the phone for several moments, many of the board members with ugly looks on their faces. Each and every person in the room had a unanimous unspoken agreement that Malcolm was the most annoying person that they had ever encountered. Not just because he spouted jargon like a river, not just because he crossed them wherever they turned.

It was because he was always right.